the plot of ground before them was laid out: it would serve as a memento of this period of their early acquaintance. "And in that room, Adeline," he proceeded, "we will pass a great portion of our time."

"We!" exclaimed Adeline.

He looked hesitatingly for a moment, but bent his head towards her, and continued:

"He had not spoken intentionally. But the truth was, he had latterly been so accustomed, in his inmost heart, to associate Adeline with hereafter his future plans, his future home, his future happiness-that he had unguardedly given utterance to his presumptuous thoughts: he would not so offend again."

She glanced timidly at him, earnest tears rising to her eyes, through he blush that suffused her face: her heart would have wished to tell him how far he had been from giving her offence.

Another time he was walking home with Adeline, Louise and her great crimson parapluie streaming, as usual, half a mile behind them, when, in jumping from a stile, Adeline twisted her foot. The pain, for the moment, was intense; Mr. St. John saw it, by her countenance; and he wound his arms round her and sheltered her head on his bosom. these signs must mean-something.

All

That time had come for Adeline which must come for us all-the blissful period of love's first dream. She did not at first understand the magic of the charm that was stealing over her, making all, within and without, a paradise. She had assured Miss Carr that there was no danger of her loving Mr. St. John, yet even then, though she suspected it not, the golden links of the net were fastening round her heart. And when she awoke to the real nature of these sweet sensations, it was too late to fly the danger-the power and the will to do so alike were over.

How many varied degrees of the passion called love there are, can never be ascertained, for one human being cannot experience the feelings of another. The love-so called-felt by the generality of mortals, every-day, practical men and women, is as essentially different from that which takes root in a highly passionate, imaginative temperament, the refined, the intellectual, that the two have no affinity one with the other. This last passion is known but to few, and, except by themselves, can be imagined by none. The world in general could not understand this love; it is of a nature far removed from them; they would laugh at, while they disbelieved it. It has been asserted that this highly-wrought passion, the ecstatic bliss of which, while it lasts, no earthly language could express, never ends happily. It never does. The dream comes to an end, and the heart's life with it. Perhaps nearly a whole existence has yet to be dragged through, but all enjoyment in the world and the world's things is gone, and nothing can ever again awaken a pulse, or a thrill, in the worn and beaten heart. The smile may frequent the lip, the jest may issue from it; gay beaming glances may dart from the eye, and their hollowness is not suspected, nor the desolation that has long settled within. You who read this, may meet it in a spirit of dispute and ridicule: it is because you cannot understand it. And be thankful that it is so- -that

the

power, so fatally to love, has been spared to you.

It was a passion of this latter and rare description which had taken March-VOL. CIII. NO. CCCCXI.

U

possession of Adeline de Castella. She could not have loved as the world loves, for she was one of those who live but in their inward life. There was a mine of sentiment and poetry within her, and it wanted but a touch like this to awaken it. Now, she lived in the present; before, she had lived in the future; hereafter, she would live in the past. She rose in the morning, and there was no wish beyond the day, the thought of seeing Mr. St. John; she retired to rest at night, only to dream of him, and awake to the bliss of another day. Nature had never looked to her as it looked now: the grass had been green, but not of this green; the fragrance of the flowers had been fragrance, but not of its present sweetness; the song of the birds, hitherto unmeaning, seemed now a carol of joyous praise to their Creator; there was music in the winds and in the fluttering breeze; there was rapture in the whole bright earth. Adeline was living in a dream, as it were of Paradise-there is nothing else with which to compare it. It was well for her, it is well for us all that it does not last, or we should never ask, or wish, for the Heaven that is to

come.

And what of Mr. St. John? Did he love her? Beyond all doubt he loved her, and would have made her his dear wife, and cherished her as such but whether in the idolatry of a first, pure attachment, which can come once to such a nature as his, or whether it was but the passing preference which a man of the world will feel twenty times for as many women, can never be known. Neither can much light be thrown upon this point as the story proceeds, for none could penetrate into Mr. St. John's secret feelings, and events can but be related as they occurred. It may be that, with him, the power so to love had already passed.

OUR FIRST AND LAST WINTER AT CARLSRUHE.

BY AN OLD TRAVELLER.

DRIVEN by the severity of its climate from Baden-Baden, and arrived at Carlsruhe (as described in a former number), we had to re-establish ourselves for the winter. Carlsruhe was already full of strangers from various quarters, and the houses usually let to them were mostly occupied. A furnished apartment can rarely be obtained; but there are several "respectable gentlemen of the Hebrew persuasion" who supply everything requisite, on a very short notice, and at an expense generally about equal to the rent. For a Stoc (or floor), for instance, which is let at five louis a month, the hire of furniture would be about the same sum; and for ten or twelve louis, in all, a suite of eight or nine rooms, with kitchen, cellars for wood and wine, and the use of a remise, could be procured. For handsome and more extensive accommodations, the price was from fifteen to twenty.

After making many inquiries—and with the assistance of agents and advertisements-we took the second floor of a house in one of the best situations, and formerly the residence of one of the Margraves. Our

opposite neighbour was the Margrave Wilhelm. Though I had sacrificed a pleasant place, some agreeable acquaintance, and an excellent German master, in quitting Baden, I found that in every other respect the change was for the better. We had a better supply of books, an opera, theatre, and public rooms; and if we saw less of our compatriots, we saw more of the Germans.

Even before railways began to carry them past all intermediate points, and to take them at once to their destination, Carlsruhe was seldom the resting-place of our travelling countrymen. There are few to whom its exterior is not familiar; and, as regards myself, I linger over its recollections, as the town in which I saw most of German society, and as a favourable specimen of its class. Its romantic origin (anno 1715) is recorded in a German inscription that may still be seen at the château. It was then a forest, in which the Margrave Karl, of Baden-Dourlach, was reposing from the fatigues of the chase, when he determined-as we are told by every guide-book-to make it his permanent rest. The place he had thus projected was originally built of wood, from his own designs; and the streets diverging (as they still do) from the front of the palace, were, at first, only five. The three principal were terminated, a little below the present lange Strasse, by churches for the respective use of the Lutherans, Reformists, and Catholics, to whom (as the chief sects of the empire) the Margrave, in founding his new city, had granted liberty of conscience. Of these the Lutheran (now called the Garnison Kirche) is the only one that has survived the rapid changes of little more than a century. The writer of an agreeable book of travels, published in 1734-the Baron Pöllnitz-informs us that, when at Carlsruhe, he took the liberty of expressing to the Margrave his surprise that brick, at least, had not been used in the construction of the palace, and of the houses and arcades which form the semicircle surrounding the grounds in front. "I wished," replied the prince, "to build myself a retreat without expense to my subjects, and to enjoy what I might make. A more costly material would have required time, and heavy imposts. Besides, my country is so situated as to be frequently the theatre of war. I was not in circumstances to make a place capable of resisting an enemy; nor would it have been reasonable to have spent the money of my people upon a residence that I might see burnt, as I have already seen that of Dourlach, and my others which the French have laid in ashes. I have built, sir, according to my resources; and I like better that they should say I am badly lodged and free from debt, than that I have a superb palace without the means of paying for it."

But the Margrave was no ordinary person. "It is not without cause," says Baron Pöllnitz, "that he has given the name of Carlsruhe to his place. He leads there the most tranquil life that can be conceived; and, regardless of his rank, has its pleasures without its annoyances and constraint. He possesses a robust constitution, notwithstanding the fatigues of a youth passed in foreign service, and is as fresh and vigorous as a man of forty. Though remarkably stout, he does not give himself up to inactivity. In the summer he rises at five, and walks in his grounds till the heat of the sun obliges him to retreat, He is then either occupied with his ministers, or amuses himself with experiments in chemistry. Sometimes he draws. His dinner, generally taken in company with

three of his family or suite, is served by females, of whom he has an establishment of sixty; but the number daily on service is eight. When he goes out, they follow him on horseback, dressed as hussars. The greater part of these young women understand music or dancing. They appear in operas at the court theatre, form part of the choir of the chapel, and are all lodged in the palace.

"After dinner the Margrave gives audience to his subjects, and on certain days he listens to the complaints and applications of all classes. Few princes are more prompt or exact in doing justice. Sometimes he enjoys the pleasures of the chase. Another of his amusements is agriculture; and he is amongst the first florists of his age. He is never, indeed, idle. There are few things of which he is ignorant: many he understands perfectly. His conversation is most agreeable; he speaks several languages well; and his manners are obliging and affable. He is glad to see strangers at his court, and profuse in his civilities to them."

I have given these particulars from Baron Pöllnitz, at some risk of being tedious, because-with the exception of the female hussars—they describe the simple mode of life of some of the German princes of our own times. Are we to consider him a philosopher or a voluptuary?

But I am dwelling upon Carlsruhe as it was, when it is my purpose to describe it as it is. The labours of its later architects-of Weinbrenner, Müller, Major Arnold; and their successors, Hübsch and Fischer-have added the handsome public buildings of a capital to the first humble designs of its founder. Except a few small houses; the church which I have already mentioned; the tower of the château (pointed out by tradition as the dormitory of the female troop); and a small portion of the original arcade, scarcely anything remains to remind us of the wooden buildings of the Margrave.

The inhabitants have not been modernised as rapidly as their city.

In Carlsruhe, which, as the residence of a court and an important thoroughfare, must be presumed to be as far advanced as most places in Germany, everything pertaining to domestic life seems a century behind a provincial town in England. The hours, even of those who have no occupation, are most primitive. There is a village in its immediate neighbourhood where the people go to bed at dusk, and get up at daylight; and where candles are an unknown luxury. The more polished inhabitants of Carlsruhe rise at five; many of them earlier; dine at twelve, take a cup of tea or coffee about three, some light refreshment at seven, and the whole family are in bed at nine.

Amongst the class below the court circle, I have known instances of the company assembling for an evening party and dance at half-past three, and breaking up at eleven; which the Frauen and Fräulein considered an approach to fashionable dissipation. Even the dinnerparties of the Grand Duke himself were given at two o'clock; and at the palace of the Margrave, our opposite neighbour, every light was extinguished, on ordinary occasions, at nine; and not a sound was to be heard but the footfall of the sentinels as they paced upon the hard

snow.

It may be asked how such a people amuse themselves. After dinner the men resort to their club, or their favourite café; the women walk, or pass an hour or two at each other's houses, knitting, and talking of

their neighbours. In the evening there is the theatre, where the performances are generally over by nine o'clock; and it is creditable to the manners of the place that women may walk to such an amusement and back again alone, without danger of being annoyed in any way.

Then, during the carnival, there are dress or masked balls at all the Réunions (or clubs); and at Carlsruhe every class has its réunion, from the Museum (of which the Grand Duke, nobility, military, &c., are members) to the Verein of the humblest mechanic.

The theatre, with its pleasant alternations of drama and opera, though we often visited it with the thermometer, outside, at 12 deg. below zero of Reaumur, was an agreeable resource to ourselves. The general attendance could scarcely have made it profitable; but, at Carlsruhe, it is subsidized by the Grand Duke; and the officers who are quartered there are also obliged to contribute from their pay to its support. It was a very enjoyable amusement. Nor could many places have offered greater temptation than our present abode to indulge in the pleasures of the table. The gourmand, who stays long enough to be treated with due consideration, will not easily forget the preparations of fresh foie gras, or the snails, deliciously scolloped, which are amongst the triumphs of the German kitchen. From the last-named delicacy, those only who have never had the privilege of tasting them will turn with repugnance.

Some lingering consequences of the fogs of Baden-Baden prevented our visiting generally; but still we saw a good deal of the Carlsruhe world, at parties where princes led the Polonaise, and ministers of state played at ombre. In the salons of the Freifrau (Baroness) Von we met with all that was highest and best in the gradations of society, and her entertainments were given with a taste and liberality worthy of Paris or of London. Amongst her guests, too, there was that sprinkling of brilliant decorations and glittering uniforms which add so much to the gay appearance of a ball-room. But in a company that merely presents the tone of the best society in other capitals, there is little to remark. Here all was perfect and comme il faut; the music excellent, and the supper-tables laid out with taste and profusion. The only thing which seemed strange, on these occasions, was to find, as part of the tea equipage, a glass flacon of RUM!-it certainly had an odd appearance. An English lady, who passed a winter at Vienna, had noticed the same phenomenon there; and intimated that it was introduced, perhaps, in compliment to the taste for potent beverages which continental scandal has so unjustly attributed to our fair countrywomen. But I was told by a German friend that the custom was general; and he could only account for it by supposing that the tea was usually so badly made as to require the additional strength of so uncourtly an ingredient. The comfort of such a mixture, in a climate where the thermometer falls so much below zero, is more probably the true cause of its introduction.

If sharp, however, the Carlsruhe winter was not long. The first week in November we had a fall of snow, and very severe frost. This continued, with now and then a week of rain, till the end of February; when, in the course of a few days, the weather changed to the most delightful spring. The second week in March we left off fires, and had a summer temperature, and our room perfumed with violets. In the mean time our gaieties went on.